


Afterparty

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Face-Fucking, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Glasses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:58:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre's not really comfortable at Marius and Cosette's engagement.  When Courfeyrac takes him into an empty room to help him calm down, feelings come out, and they ditch early for some celebrations of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterparty

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kink meme fill for [this](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13289.html?thread=8400617#t8400617) prompt. Prompt was Combeferre getting fucked out of his mind, bonus points for involving his glasses.

"I'm going to break his glasses with my pelvis."  
  
That's the first thing Courfeyrac says, going stock-still as Combeferre comes down the stairs in full three-piece-suit and thin tie.  He says it quietly enough that only Jehan and Cosette can hear, and the both of them have to stifle their laughter.  
  
It's Marius and Cosette's big engagement party, sponsored by Grandpa Pontmercy and Cosette's Dad both -- Gillenormand had un-disowned Marius when he realized how wealthy Cosette and her Papa were.  There were going to be a ton of the upper-class types at the affair, but it wasn't quite tuxedo-appropriate, so the boys were in suits, Cosette was wearing a sleek white dress, and 'Ponine and 'Chetta were wearing similarly cut numbers in pale blue and bright red, respectively.  
  
Courfeyrac has utterly stopped caring, though, because Jesus fuck almighty, Combeferre in a suit is literally in the top five of Courfeyrac's "Sexiest things I have ever seen my friend(s) do" List.  He might actually be #1 on the itemized version, actually.  
  
Combeferre has always been tall and slim, taller than everyone except Bahorel and thin enough that he could curl himself up in the weirdest positions to study in tight places.  
  
But Courfeyrac has to stop _thinking about it_ , because 'Ferre is at the bottom of the stairs and Cosette and Jehan have stood on tiptoe to each kiss one of Combeferre's cheeks.  Combeferre just smiles, returning the gestures, because kindness is evil and Combeferre, Courfeyrac knows, possesses both in great quantities.  
  
"Someone went all out," Courfeyrac says, managing to cover the way he's been kind of shamelessly checking out one of his two best friends.  
  
Combeferre's mouth twitches.  "My mother insisted I wear something more dressed-up than I'm used to."  
  
"And thank the Gods for your mother," Grantaire calls over to them from where he's fixing Marius's askew tie.  "Every rich girl at this party won't be able to keep her eyes off of you."  He smirks.  "Or their hands."  
  
Courfeyrac will forever rue the day that he told Grantaire that his feelings for Combeferre weren't strictly friendly.  
  
Because Grantaire is a _dick_.  
  
But Combeferre doesn't seem to notice.  He blushes at Grantaire's comment and smoothes at his hair -- even though it doesn't need it -- saying, "I hope they aren't too disappointed."  
  
"A vain hope," Courfeyrac mutters.  Any girl not immediately seduced by Combeferre's looks would be taken by his wit or his unfailing kindness.  
  
Combeferre smiles.  "A high compliment."  
  
Courfeyrac has never known Combeferre to be nervous.  The med student is unfailingly, unflinchingly calm; when Enjolras is too intense or Courfeyrac too attached, Combeferre restrains and calms the storms. They would be nowhere without him.  
  
But he's nervous now -- it's obvious in the peculiar set to his shoulders and the way he can't seem to settle his eyes on anything in particular.  
  
Courfeyrac keeps close to him, not saying anything but keeping himself in reach.  
  
They have to drift away from each other as everyone goes and makes small talk.  Even Grantaire is playing nice tonight, because this is for Marius and Cosette and that requires everyone's best behavior.  
  
Until someone gets Enjolras going.  
  
Courfeyrac is making the acquaintance of a pretty blonde daughter of an ambassador and doesn't see the start of it, but suddenly Grantaire's jabbing him in the side and Combeferre is making the "abort mission" hand signal they've been using since high school.  
  
So he excuses himself and crosses the room, Grantaire at his heels.  
  
"I don't understand why, if you don't trust women to responsibly have sex, how can you trust them to _raise a child_?" Enjolras is hissing.  He looks every inch the avenging archangel, and this is going to go to Hell very quickly.  
  
"I'm sure this is a nice, civil discussion," Combeferre responds before Enjolras's conversation partner -- an older woman wearing a crucifix -- can.  "But, Enjolras, I don't think here is the best place to be having it."  
  
"Everyone who's drinking is already drunk or sleeping," Grantaire throws in, voice dancing over the rhythm of the poem, "And everyone who isn't's too political to talk to."  He links his arm with Enjolras's.  "I think I'm feeling apolitical; convince me otherwise."  
  
It works like magic; Enjolras's ire turns on Grantaire, and the latter leads him away from the situation (and likely into an empty room, if Courfeyrac knows his friends).  
  
"Your friend has no respect for the sanctity and dignity of human life," the woman says, pursing her lips.  "I wouldn't be surprised if he were one of those disgusting homosexuals, especially with hair like that."  
  
Combeferre raises an eyebrow.  "Enjolras has more respect for humanity than the Pope has for God," he says smoothly, "And I don't see how his sexual preference would relate to respect or disrespect for life, madam."  
  
Courfeyrac could kiss him.  Instead, he just grins.  "We've known him from grade school on -- he just doesn't have many discussion topics that aren't politics or academia."  
  
The woman is pacified, but doesn't look happy.  Another person approaches, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac make themselves scarce.  
  
Well, Courfeyrac drags Combeferre into an empty room, because the nerves are back and Courfeyrac wants to fix it.  Combeferre shouldn't be nervous about anything -- he's brilliant and gorgeous and kind, and Courfeyrac will actually kill anyone who is a dick to Combeferre.  
  
Combeferre doesn't know that last part, exactly, but still.  
  
"You okay?  You look...tense.  Buttoned up tense."  Courfeyrac pushes Combeferre into a chair.  
  
Combeferre laughs a little.  "I'm fine, honestly."  
  
Courfeyrac sits down on the floor and rests his chin on Combeferre's knee.  "The whole time we've been here, you've seemed...I don't know, uncomfortable.  So I figured I would ask, I guess."  
  
"It's a little unnerving, I suppose."  Combeferre drops his hand into Courfeyrac's unruly curls out of habit.  "I don't really like all of the attention people are giving me.  Usually, around you and Enjolras, I fade into the background, and I like it that way."  
  
"Okay," Courfeyrac murmurs back, resting his cheek against Combeferre's leg now.  "Sorry to have exacerbated that."  
  
Combeferre laughs a little.  "You're different.  I know you."  
  
"You're used to me, is that it?" Courfeyrac chuckles.  "I don't if that's a compliment or an insult."  
  
Combeferre's fingers are gentle in his hair, and his voice is quiet and serious. "I don't mind you paying attention to me, is what I mean."  
  
Courfeyrac turns around, eyes widening a little, to find a light blush dusting Combeferre's cheeks.  That's what lets Courfeyrac know they're on the same page, and he kneels up and leans on the arm of the chair.  "How long have you noticed?" he asks, feeling his own face heat.  
  
"I'm not sure," Combeferre admits.  "I've been wondering if it meant anything."  
  
Courfeyrac blushes.  "You're pretty," he says, ducking his face to hide his eyes.  "And you look particularly nice today."  
  
"You don't usually act so shy," Combeferre mumbles. His hand is still in Courfeyrac's hair, and he's rubbing soothing circles in his scalp.  "I was expecting some kind of smooth seduction routine, you know."  
  
"How am I supposed to seduce _you_?" Courfeyrac whines.  "You're supremely unperturbable."  
  
Combeferre laughs.  "You know you don't actually have to."  
  
"That's a relief," Courfeyrac says, standing up.  He smiles and hops up on the arm of the chair, swinging his legs across Combeferre's lap.  "Because you're making me a little ridiculous.  I can't seduce when I'm ridiculous."  
  
"I like you ridiculous," Combeferre says, hand moving to the back of Courfeyrac's neck.  "You're still you."  
  
Courfeyrac lets out a soft noise.  "Can I -- can I kiss you?"  
  
"If you don't mind me kissing you back," Combeferre murmurs, a smile pulling at his lips.  
  
Courfeyrac, suffice to say, swoops in for a kiss.  And it -- it's everything he has ever wanted out of a first kiss with Combeferre; soft, and sweet, and utterly sure of itself.  
  
Because Combeferre, he knows what he's doing, and Courfeyrac knows that if he were anyone else, Combeferre would have him melting against him by now.  But Courfeyrac is Courfeyrac, and he's been wanting this for a while now, so he can handle it -- keep his head about himself while he kisses Combeferre.  
  
They part without even getting to tongue, which is frustrating and absolutely perfect.  Courfeyrac tips his forehead against Combeferre's and grins like the cat who got the cream.  
  
"We should get out of here," Courfeyrac says quietly.  "So many people, I doubt anyone will miss us."  
  
Combeferre smirks.  "I'm sure R has Enjolras well in hand by now," he admits.  
  
"Was that a sex pun?  Oh my god, that was totally a sex pun," Courfeyrac grins widely.  "You are the best one, I swear to god I was not expecting that."  He pauses.  "Are they even fucking yet?"  
  
"I think we'll be able to tell by the ratio of sad text messages to confused, elated ones we get in the morning," Combeferre says, smiling.  
  
Courfeyrac nods.  "That's true."  
  
"Though, you should tell Marius you're going home; if you don't, he'll wind up spending hours looking for you." Combeferre reminds him of this gently, fingers drawing through Courfeyrac's hair again.  
  
"Damn, you're right.  I can't do that to him, or Cosette."  Courfeyrac hops off of the chair and extends a hand to Combeferre.  "Come on."  
  
Combeferre takes his hand and stands, and Courf laces their fingers together.  Combeferre smiles at him, glancing down at their hands, and Courfeyrac  blushes.  
  
"Do you mind?" he asks.  
  
"Not at all," Combeferre replies, tipping his face to kiss Courfeyrac's forehead.  
  
That's the only permission Courfeyrac needs, and so they go in search of Marius and Cosette.  The happy couple are being grilled on their intentions and future plans by about four different people at once, and Marius looks dreadfully uncomfortable with all of it.  
  
Courfeyrac knows exactly what to do.  
  
"Marius!" he calls over to him when they're still a couple of yard away from the flock of vultures.  "Come here, I want to talk to you."  
  
Markus excuses himself as Cosette continues to field questions with her usual grace and aplomb.  
  
"Combeferre and I are heading out for the night, if that's okay?" Courfeyrac says quietly, dropping his free arm over Marius's shoulders.  "I just want to remind you -- despite all this mess, you're going to do just fine.  You've got Cosette, and she's got you, and both of you have all of us plus her dad, for all he pretends to be wary and overprotective.  You need anything, you always know where to find me."  
  
Marius nods.  "I know.  We're...we're all family."  He says it like he's still not sure.  
  
"Damn straight we are," Courfeyrac nods, thumping Marius's shoulder.  "Now, we gotta go.  And, since it's your engagement party night, I'm leaving the apartment empty.  When you and Cosette can get out of here, you're gonna have plenty of privacy."  
  
This is when Marius notices that Combeferre and Courfeyrac are holding hands, and he smiles.  "I'm supposing Enjolras is going to be spending the night at Grantaire's?" he asks, almost delicately.  
  
Combeferre laughs, seemingly despite himself.  Courfeyrac takes his hand off Marius's shoulder to clutch his heart dramatically.  "Why, you absolute _cad_ ," he says, in a mock-scandalized voice, before growing serious again.  "But seriously, Marius.  We're proud of you, man."  
  
Marius smiles, looking down.  "Thank you."  
  
Courfeyrac pulls him into a one-armed hug and then retreats.  "See you tomorrow."  
  
"See you."  Marius smiles and does his little awkward half-wave thing.  Then he turned to go join his fiancée, a new certainty in his step.  
  
Combeferre squeezes Courfeyrac's hand.  "You're going to cry at his wedding, aren't you?"  
  
Courfeyrac smiles.  "Yep."  He glances at Combeferre.  "Now come on, let's get out of here, I have an apartment to be vacating."  
  
That gets him a laugh, and they head for the door, passing Enjolras and Grantaire having a quiet, hissed argument on what constitutes proper engagement party behavior.  Enjolras is leaning _very_  close to Grantaire, and Grantaire's frustration is practically written in neon in his body language.  
  
Courfeyrac claps Grantaire on the back, hard, and that knocks their faces together -- not quite a kiss, but hey, he tried.  "We're leaving."  
  
Combeferre adds, "You might want to stay over at Grantaire's tonight."  
  
Both Enjolras and Grantaire have turned bright red and sputtering by now, and then Enjolras seems to process Combeferre's implication.  
  
"Wait, wait, _you_?" he asks.  
  
"Us," Combeferre says, nodding.  
  
"Oh."  
  
Courfeyrac laughs and pulls Combeferre away to the hallway and down the stairs.  
  
"That wasn't very kind of you," Combeferre murmurs, half-reproving.  
  
"They'll thank me for it eventually," Courfeyrac says breezily.  "Something's gotta give, you know?"  
  
Combeferre cracks a smile.  "I suppose."  
  
They settle into a companionable silence during the drive back to Enjolras and Combeferre's apartment, their hands still interlaced between them.  Courfeyrac feels a flutter start up in his stomach; he's going to do this.  This is actually going to happen, Jesus Christ.  
  
He only barely keeps his hands to himself as they climb the stairs and get inside the apartment.  Then, Combeferre pulls him into a thick, almost bruising kiss.  
  
Courfeyrac groans and pushes back into it, hands fisting in Combeferre's suit jacket.  His tongue slips out to run along the seam of Combeferre's lips, and Combeferre lets him in eagerly.  
  
Combeferre is an _excellent_  kisser, as it turns out, even with tongue.  Courfeyrac is giddy with it, and his hands roam pretty much everywhere as Combeferre's settle in his hair again, tangle there, really, and Courfeyrac kind of hopes he'll pull a little.  
  
When they pull apart for air, the first thing Combeferre manages to say is "I want to blow you."  
  
Courfeyrac groans.  "Shit."  
  
"That a yes?"  Combeferre tugs at Courfeyrac's vest -- his own jacket let somewhere back at the party -- like he wants to rip it off him.  
  
"Jesus Christ, yes."  Courfeyrac chuckles breathlessly and tilts his head to mouth at the tendons in Combeferre's neck.  "You know what I said to Cosette and Jehan when you were coming down the stairs?"  He barely pauses for Combeferre's groaned out _yes_. "I said 'I'm gonna break his glasses with my pelvis.'"  
  
Combeferre makes this strangled noise and clutches at the back of Courfeyrac's waist.  Courfeyrac grins and sucks a bruise into his neck, pulling another noise out of him.  
  
"I'm going to _take you apart_ ," Combeferre growls, having apparently gotten past the neck thing and whatever.  
  
"Sounds like fun," Courfeyrac manages before Combeferre bodily lifts him and then presses him down into the couch -- which is all the way across the room, how the hell did he do that -- to kiss him again.  
  
In between kisses, Courfeyrac says, "How the fuck did you?"  
  
"Don't know, don't particularly care," Combeferre mutters back.  "I really just want to get you messy and debauched."  
  
Courfeyrac groans, because he is _totally down_  with some debauchery tonight.  He pulls Combeferre closer.  "Still wanna break your glasses with my pelvis, so if you wanna keep 'em, you should probably take 'em off."  
  
Combeferre laughs, and the glasses come off.  They kiss again, hot and wet and filthy, and then Combeferre is unbuttoning Courfeyrac's vest with nimble fingers and Courfeyrac is shrugging out of it while trying to push off Combeferre's jacket.  When they're both down to shirt and pants, Courfeyrac is about ready to die of want.  
  
Because for all it's really, _really_  hot to see Combeferre in a suit, he really would much rather see him naked right now.  
  
"How long?" Combeferre asks breathlessly, sliding his hands up under Courfeyrac's shirt.  
  
Courfeyrac whines at the touch.  "Six months, maybe.  You?"  
  
"Shit, was that -- that was the barfight, right?"  On the whole, Combeferre doesn't curse, but by now Courfeyrac has gotten the front of Combeferre's shirt open and is sliding his hands everywhere on his chest, pausing to rub at his nipples hard enough to make him hiss with pleasure.  "Me too."  
  
 "Yeah," Courfeyrac manages, rolling his hips up against Combeferre's searching now for friction.  
  
They're both too far gone for much conversation after that, but Combeferre kisses even harder when he's pulling down Courfeyrac's pants and wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, and Courfeyrac cries out when he does, only muffled by the mouth on his.  
  
Then Combeferre is crawling down his body and drawing level with his lips.  His hand is tight on the base of Courfeyrac's cock, and then his mouth is descending around the head, almost painfully gentle about it.  
  
Combeferre looks up then and meets Courfeyrac's eyes.  Courf bites his lip and shifts his hips just a little, hitches them up into the heat of Combeferre's mouth.  And Combeferre takes him, drops a little more before the slow slide up.  Then he drops again, each time getting a little deeper.  
  
He keeps eye contact with Courfeyrac the whole time, which should be kind of creepy but only makes it harder not to fuck up into Combeferre's mouth with abandon.  
  
Something of that must show on his face because Combeferre pulls off, suddenly, with a wet pop.  "You said you wanted to break my glasses with your pelvis," he says, voice rubbed a little raw from what he's done already.  "Do it, Courfeyrac."  
  
"Fuck," Courfeyrac moans.  "You want me to -- you want me to --"  
  
"Face-fuck me," Combeferre finishes.  
  
Courfeyrac is a little stunned, but sits up to push Combeferre over onto his back.  Combeferre goes over easily, grinning.  
  
"God, you really want me to?" Courfeyrac asks carefully.  
  
" _Yes_ ," Combeferre says, face only a little red.  
  
So Courf slides up, takes himself in hand, and lines himself up.  Combeferre's hands come up to settle on his hips, and then Courfeyrac slowly pushes his way inside Combeferre's willing mouth.  
  
It's even better at this angle, with Combeferre spread out under him like this, and Courfeyrac moans as he goes deeper.  
  
Combeferre's hands knead his hips and thighs encouragingly, and Jesus Christ, that's almost the best part, knowing just how bad Combeferre wants this.  It makes Courfeyrac a little more comfortable with driving a little harder, a little deeper, until his arms are shaking and he's either going come or have to pull out before he does.  
  
He does the latter, falling back on his haunches, thighs quaking and cock still achingly hard.  
  
Combeferre pulls himself up to a sitting position and kisses him.  Courfeyrac can taste himself in Combeferre's mouth, and that's never been quite this sexy before.  
  
"Do you want to fuck me?" Combeferre asks after a long moment of making out.  "I think I want you to fuck me."  
  
"Shit, 'Ferre, your fucking mouth," Courfeyrac mumbles.  "Yeah, I want to fuck you."  
  
Combeferre smirks.  "Then we need to move off the couch."  
  
It takes them a couple of minutes to get to the bedroom, shedding clothes as they go, because Courfeyrac can't stop trying to put his mouth on any piece of Combeferre's skin that he can reach, and Combeferre doesn't seem to particularly mind it.  
  
But they get there, and Courfeyrac pushes Combeferre down on the bed.  "You want me to fuck you," he asks, just checking.  
  
Combeferre grins, and his hair's a mess, and he _spreads his legs_.  
  
"Yes," he says, only blushing a little.  
  
"Have you ever?" Courfeyrac asks, climbing onto the bed and sliding between Combeferre's legs.  "Because if you haven't it's gonna hurt."  
  
Combeferre nods.  "A couple of times," he mumbles.  
  
Courfeyrac doesn't want to think about anyone else in this position, so he just pushes the thought out of his head and focuses on the now.  "Have you, uh, fingered yourself lately?"  
  
"Yes."  Combeferre tilts his head back on the pillow.  "Thought of you."  
  
"Shit," Courfeyrac groans.  "That's hot."  
  
Combeferre laughs.  "You sound like you're in a bad porno."  
  
"Shut up," Courfeyrac said, without any real rancor.  He leaned down to kiss Combeferre softly.  "I never had any idea that you saw me like that, or else we would be doing this already."  
  
Combeferre makes a soft, pleased noise, and his hand slides down Courfeyrac's chest to trail along the plane of his stomach.  "Lube and condoms are in the bottom drawer of the nightstand," he murmurs when Courfeyrac pulls back.  
  
Courfeyrac moans, just a little, and retrieves them.  He slides back down Combeferre's body and kneels between Combeferre's legs again.  He works one over his shoulder to spread him wider.  
  
"How do you want to fuck?" he asks.  
  
"Don't care," Combeferre groans as Courfeyrac traces his hole with a lube-slick finger.  "Just want you in me, preferably before tomorrow."  
  
"Bossy," Courfeyrac says, laughing.  But he can see that Combeferre's as painfully hard as he is, and so he starts, pushing his finger slowly into Combeferre.  
  
Combeferre makes this _noise_ when he's breached, and Courfeyrac moans right back.  
  
He slides his finger deeper, slowly, inexorably prepping Combeferre to take him.  It doesn't take very long, but with the way Combeferre's reacting to it, well...  
  
"I'm gonna have to just finger you sometime," he says, breathless.  "See if I can make you come just from that."  
  
Combeferre whimpers, his legs spreading wider as Courfeyrac draws his fingers (he's up to three now, just to be sure) across his prostate in the way that makes him jerk.  "Please."  
  
"But tonight I'm gonna fuck you, if that's still what you want."  
  
"Yes, please, please," Combeferre moans, hips hitching on Courfeyrac's fingers, and Courfeyrac smirks.  
  
"You ready?"  
  
" _Yes_."  
  
Courfeyrac feels his heart speed up a little.  He's a little nervous now, because holy shit, he's actually doing this, but he rolls the condom on, lubes up, and lines himself up with Combeferre's hole.  
  
When his cockhead nudges against Combeferre's hole, Combeferre makes this punched out noise that's almost desperate.  
  
Then he's sliding in, slow and hot, and Combeferre lets out this long, sustained whine, and it's quite possibly the hottest thing Courfeyrac has ever heard.  
  
Eventually, he's buried all the way in Combeferre, and he celebrates this fact by kissing him, wet and hot and filthy.  
  
When they pull apart, Combeferre mumbles, nearly incoherent already, "Move, please."  
  
Courfeyrac moves.  Combeferre is almost virgin-tight, and Courfeyrac has to go slow the first few strokes, just to savor it, before he starts fucking him in earnest.  
  
Combeferre seems to love it.  He's _loud_ , and his hands are everywhere before they settle to grip between Courfeyrac's shoulderblades, and there are going to be bruises and it's fantastic; Courfeyrac's certain he's never had better sex, and he's had a lot of sex.  
  
"Fuck, 'Ferre," he manages, hips pistoning in, and he kisses all over his face.  "You're fucking gorgeous."  
  
"You -- you too," Combeferre says, "I'm -- I'm close."  
  
Courfeyrac braces himself and fucks harder.  He wants to make Combeferre come first, wants to see if he can make him come just from this.  
  
Combeferre whimpers, moans, shakes -- he's clearly on the edge, and so Courfeyrac changes his angle, moving up higher on his knees.  
  
His cock moves across Combeferre's prostate, and Combeferre's orgasm is explosive.  He goes completely silent and jerks upward, freezes, and then goes limp.  He pulses between them and around Courfeyrac's cock.  
  
Courfeyrac follows him over, moaning as he goes.  His arms shake and he wants to collapse on Combeferre's chest.  
  
Instead, he forces himself to pull out so he can get rid of the condom, and then lays down next to Combeferre; Combeferre's only coming back to his senses now, and he pulls a hand through his hair as he turns a little and looks Courfeyrac over.  
  
"Ruined your pants," he says quietly.  
  
"Well, that means I don't have to get up and get towels for cleanup," Courfeyrac points out, shimmying the rest of the way out of his pants -- he's not quite sure how he'd managed to retain them anyway -- and wiping them both clean.  
  
In the aftermath there's something of an awkward silence.  
  
Then Courfeyrac says "That was the best sex ever --" as Combeferre says "Stay the night?"  
  
"Of course," Courfeyrac says after a moment.  He snuggles in closer to Combeferre, slinging an arm around him and kissing him gently.  "Nowhere else I'd rather be."  
  



End file.
